redredred
by andromedacblack
Summary: The red is everywhere. Eileen x Cynthia; horror much moreso than romance.


**Redredred  
**_an Eileen/Cynthia fanfic_

Eileen had spent the night curled up in a ball, back pressed to the wall of that red-tinted room, purse crushed to her chest. Henry had gone, had left her -- and she could only stay awake so long before sleep gnawed at her tired and beaten frame.

She had woken to stiffness in her neck and pain in her joints. God, her head _throbbed_; she winced as she put weight on her bad leg.

She felt -- not hungry, like she should have, but restless and curious. Suddenly the room felt cramped, too cramped, as if she was choking in heat and red, seeping into her _lungs_ --

She shoved the door open, barreling into it with her bad arm. She shrieked, the noise escaping her lips before she could stop it, could feel the tears begin to prick at her eyes.

Eileen wanted to sink against the door, to cry and sob and moan, but she couldn't, not with the red seeping under the door like that. She limped across the floor, mumbling and whining to herself under her breath, leaning against the wall. She wanted to die, really wanted to die -- but Henry wouldn't leave her, would he? He'd come back. He _had_ to.

She figured stopping to rest wouldn't hurt, and there, her headache was starting to die down. She closed her eyes - just a second - relaxed --

The air suddenly got colder, piercingly colder. Her lungs felt frozen, deprived -- Eileen gasped for oxygen, her eyes shooting open. The red was starting to fade from her vision, but a grating noise reached her ears. A movement caught her eye, and she moved her head -- slowly, slowly, and saw a mass of black hair, red shirt, bloodblood_blood_ --

Eileen's mind reeled, a rush of memories striking her at once. She'd met Cynthia on the subway, entranced by the pretty black-haired woman beside her. Cynthia had noticed, smiled her mocking and amused smile, and asked in that sultry voice of hers, "You like what you see? You're actually pretty cute."

Cynthia had somehow become her friend, in between the blushing awkwardness and repeated run-ins on the subway. Nothing any more than a friend; though Cynthia was freely interested in both men and women, Eileen knew if she slept with Cynthia, she could never be Cynthia's friend. That just wasn't how Cynthia worked.

That didn't stop the feelings from blossoming, deep inside Eileen, and growing so quickly that she had no time to stop them. And Cynthia liked to _touch_, which certainly didn't help. Eileen was sure Cynthia noticed -- the smiles were a little too knowing, the hands slipped a little too far up Eileen's skirt. Eileen held a faint hope she could be different, both friend and lover, that those lips could be crushed against hers and those hands could move even higher --

Then Cynthia had gone missing, and showed up dead. Then there was beating, bones breaking, numbers carved into her back, saviour in the guise of a child --

And here was Cynthia again, in front of her. She slithered across the floor towards Eileen, and Eileen sank to the floor, voice choking in her throat. Cynthia found her, hair draping itself over Eileen. Those hands - so clammy and cold, devoid of the warmth Eileen remembered - touched and probed at Eileen, glancing over her arm, passing over her cheek. They finally slid back down, one toying at the hem of Eileen's dress.

_Eileen._

Eileen heard it more in her head than outside. Her mind felt blank, so blank -- a horizon of white noise, but for that sudden deafening hiss of Cynthia's voice. _Eileen._

Cynthia moved closer, and Eileen could feel her weight settling on her. Eileen couldn't see her eyes, shrouded by hair; Cynthia's face drew closer. Eileen suddenly realized -- _oh god, she's not breathing_, as those lips, so redredred with lipstick and something else brushed hers, _Eileen. Eileen, Eileen, Eileen_ --

"Eileen!"

The voice was male and uncharacteristically loud -- Henry. Movement finally returned to Eileen, and she shrieked, slamming her bag against Cynthia no no not Cynthia's face. She hit again and again and again, until Cynthia collapsed on her, writhing and hissing. Henry grabbed Cynthia by the hair, drawing it back to reveal oh _god_ no eyes, just gaping holes. Henry threw Cynthia off and grabbed Eileen, forcing her to her feet.

"Come _on_, we have to get out of here!" yelled Henry, dragging Eileen into the subway. He yanked the door shut just as Cynthia slammed against it, lipstick and blood smearing the glass. She was shifting, shifting and _coming through_ --

Henry grabbed Eileen's hand, and she ran.


End file.
